They were someway into this most notorious of purlieus when Stig was beset with a sneaking suspicion: those yobs at the back were talking about him. He had just heard the lad with the greasy hair remark something to the effect of "Ave ya seen dat pygmy sat infront ya."
    When his mother had moved to Riggerswell in the early seventies, after leaving Jake McCray once she had finally cottoned on to his penchant for shagging livestock, the unschooled midget had been thrown into the nearest Alma Mater. For want of a better cliché, the place was hell on Earth for him. A 'rough as shite' Secondary Modern called Scrubwood Gardens. There he was called every term of abuse ever meted out to anyone of small stature, and had subsequently acquired an almost natural intuition as to when he was being insulted. And he was being insulted now. Sitting in an uncomfortably rigid posture, he regretted his earlier decision to stay on the bus. Why didn't he get off before? Oh sure, there were those thugs, but he could have ignored them; they were on the other side of the road anyway! While he stared out into the dimly lit streets steadily drifting past, he suddenly became aware of whistling. An ugly rasping warble emitting from the vicinity of the greasy haired lad, and it was a tune that Stig was tediously familiar: 'Hi ho', from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. The green-haired lout joined in and it wasn't long before they were all at it, trilling and humming with inordinate glee. When the females started to throw in some of the words to that timeless classic, Stig clambered up and reached for the bell and there was much laughter as he fell back into his seat after pressing it. "Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go, with a bucket and spade and a hand grenade, hi ho… hi ho, hi ho. Hi ho, hi ho." Mercifully the next stop wasn't far and when they arrived Stig pelted down the aisle, unaware that his corduroys had slipped a little and the plastic of his Pampers was patently on display.